His version of scary stories always came with a humorous twist. A terrifying tale about a zombielike voice snarling, “I need eyes” turned out to be a camper with a burnt hand demanding “ice.” When we camped near Oregon’s Green Peter Dam, Dad’s story featured a punchline about a Martian and his “Damn Green Peter.”

(If you’ve been wondering where I got my juvenile sense of humor and fondness for risqué jokes…um, yeah. Hi, Dad).

My brother and I grew accustomed to the groan-worthy comedic twist at the end of each story. On a trip to the Oregon Coast, Dad began weaving an elaborate tale about a family being chased by something they feared was a giant, man-eating crab. I snuggled into my sleeping bag, preparing myself for the inevitable giggle at the end.

The tale culminated with the terrified family barring themselves at the top of the Astor Column while something flung itself against the door.

We waited for the punchline. A venereal disease joke about crabs, perhaps? Some pun involving butter and lemon?

“In the morning, the family eased open the door,” my father whispered. “And there on the stairs was a giant crab claw.”

My brother and I sat in stunned silence. We waited, thinking maybe Dad was taking his time with the joke.

But no, that was it.
I am not ashamed to admit, it scared the holy living pee out of me.

Later, my brother and I huddled in the tent and discussed this unexpected turn of events.

“I’m not scared,” he scoffed. “Giant man eating crabs don’t exist.”

“Duh,” I agreed. “Of course not.”

My brother was quiet for a moment. “I don’t think I want to go up the Astor Column tomorrow.”

“Do you think it’s OK to wear my hiking boots in the ocean?”

Don’t worry – after years of shock treatments and hypnotherapy, I’m over my fear of giant, man-eating crabs. My brother though – well, it’s a shame about the padded room.

Do you have a storyteller in your family? Can you remember any memorable tales from your childhood? Please share.

19 thoughts on “A scary story left Deb Tawna scarred for life”

You know the story of the puzzle and the face? I don’t remember if I heard it or read it as a kid, but the quickie version is a puzzle-loving girl gets a mysterious “one of a kind” puzzle that she puts together in the dead of night. The weird thing is… the puzzle is exactly her room, including the little girl on the carpet putting together a puzzle. Only difference? In the puzzle, there’s a gruesome, hideous, bloodthirsty face in the window. The girl is petrified, but she finally looks up… “and there, in the window… was the face.”

Scared the living crap out of me, and to this day I can visualize it and I shiver with fear.

So what does Genius Mommy Elise do when her darling 6-y-o daughter asks for a scary story? She busts out The Face. 6-y-o scoffs at first: “That’s SO not scary.” Cut to an hour later, and a small voice saying, “Mommy… that story really freaked me out.”

My cousin Eddie told us ghost stories on a California trip we took when I was five. I had a huge crush on Eddie. He was tall, blond, handsome, played hockey for Harvard. I’ll never forgive him for ruining me for NECTAR for life though. I don’t remember the whole story he told, but somehow the word nectar stuck in my head as an evil, bloody drink never to pass one’s lips. Thank GOD beer is never ever referred to as nectar.

I must have been 10 in that picture, which means my dad would’ve been 33. Wow. That makes me feel really old, since I’m 3 years older than that now.

The really funny thing is that all my friends now love to check out my brother (who turned out to be quite handsome and really doesn’t live in a padded room). Right now, he’s exactly the same age as my dad was in that photo!

Did your dad ever tell the ‘bloody fingers’ joke/story? It seems in line with most of his stories. There’s a disembodied voice saying to someone “bloody fingers 10 blocks away.” The bloody fingers get closer and closer until it is “bloody fingers right at your door.” The person in the story hears a knock, decides to open the door, and there’s the paperboy with a bunch of papercut asking for bandaids.

My mom tells a good scary story. Of course, she always makes it worse by saying ‘It’s true. Your great-aunt Jenny was possessed. Yeah, we had to call in her son who was a minister to perform an exorcism.’ And that was one of the milder stories we heard growing up. And people wonder why we’re all twisted.

I was told a story about a girl who kept hearing noises in the night after she went to bed, but then was reassured by her dog licking her fingers. She woke up in the morning finding her dog dead, and a note that said people can lick too. I couldn’t sleep with my hands off the bed forever!

My father liked to tell stories about The Mummy. Not only would he scare my sister and me with the spooky story, but he liked to get up and walk over to us, dragging one leg behind the other and looking like he really was all bandaged up!

Then there were tales about the poltergeist that lived in his childhood home, and would fling the silverware to the floor from the drawer.